


Marks of Affection

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [51]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: Athos has a secret he intends to keep. For now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Truth is, Athos isn’t working on a new art project. He lied. He needs Porthos and Aramis’ fingerprints because he … he wants to propose.

It’s Aramis predilection for being marked up that gave him the idea for the design of the rings, and finding a goldsmith who is not only willing to work with him but not opposed to making a trio instead of a pair was quite the hassle. But now Athos can’t decide if he wants the prints on the outside of the ring only for Aramis, or for Porthos and himself as well.

No, Athos is pretty sure he wants them on the inside for himself. It would be symbolic. It would be perfect. Because he carries Porthos and Aramis with him everywhere he goes - his feelings for them are true and valid, even when he doesn’t express them in a physical manner.

But Porthos … Athos has no idea what to do about Porthos. He stares at the pages of his book without taking in a single word, tries to find a more comfortable position in his armchair. Outside the big living room windows, November is acting out with drizzling rain and the first touch of frost, and opposite from him on the couch Santiago and Tom have curled up into a fluffy ball of dozing delight.

On the table the teapot is kept hot on its warmer, the candle flickering ever so slightly. Athos stares into the flame and tries to come to a decision, to make up his mind and just go with it. He can’t. Which is slightly ridiculous considering that he’s about to propose and has not even the slightest qualms about _that_. Are these misplaced doubts? Is he acting this nonsensical about the rings because he’s not ready after all?

Athos groans.

This is driving him insane. He could ask Porthos for advice of course - could ask him what he wants. But that would defeat the whole purpose of the thing. Athos wants it to be a _surprise_. He wants to make Porthos cry, especially after the way he behaved in the bathroom the other day. Not that he’s petty. Alright, yes, he is.

Porthos isn’t _supposed_ to stop kissing him like that. Athos’ll have to have a word with him about it. They’ve barely had time for each other recently with everything that’s happened, and Athos can’t shake the feeling that something is up. It might be that Porthos is merely trying to find his balance with him, that he doesn’t want to overwhelm Athos by being too physical.

It could be something else entirely.

Athos sighs and closes his eyes, puts down his book. He should probably check on Aramis. He’s been working for hours now, and Porthos gave them both strict instructions to prevent precisely that. It’s high time for a break. Tom and Santiago remain oblivious when Athos gets up and retreats from the living room towards the hallway, but Howard lifts his head to meow at him, chirps affectionately from his place in front of the guest room door.

Athos can’t help but think that Howard is a puppy trapped in a kitten body. Ever since Aramis has started to work from home in the guest room Howard has been complaining that he’s not allowed to join him, and consequently turned himself into a rather ineffective draught excluder. For now he’s rather too short to do any good.

He vacates the doorframe when Athos steps closer though, streaks around his ankles and purrs. “No,” Athos says very decisively. “You can’t.”

Howard meeps at him. “Still no,” Athos sighs, leaning down to pick him up and give him a good petting. “No cat hairs on the expensive dresses. I am sorry.” Athos puts him down and grabs the lint remover from where it’s hanging from a hook next to the door ever since Aramis has taken to working on the other side. Athos applies it vigorously to his person, gently kicks Howard out of the way so he won’t try to sneak in with him, and finally slips into the room.

Aramis is busy working, head bent low over his sewing machine, but he looks up when Athos pulls the door closed behind him, and smiles. “Hey you.”

Athos smiles back and walks towards the work table they set up for him. Aramis cried when he saw the finished product, a breakdown that was mostly caused by his pain medication, but not exclusively. They rearranged the furniture in the room to put a wide desk in the middle, with a low sideboard for fabrics to the left and a long rail for finished products on the right.

Everything is wide and low enough for Aramis to access it with his wheelchair, and Athos has paid Anne good money for her to fix it all up in no less than two days. That’s not really what Aramis cried about though. What he cried about is the sewing machine Athos got for him - an old-fashioned but perfectly serviceable model he had refitted from top to bottom before putting it on the desk.

It’s precisely the same as the one Aramis is working with at the shop, and Athos had to make quite a few calls to get it. Porthos called him a deceitful little goblin when he found out. Athos is very proud, both of the result of his efforts and the fanciful new term of endearment. Sometimes he gets quite jealous of the ones Porthos comes up with for Aramis.

“You need a break,” he tells Aramis now, watches as Aramis’ hands guide a strip of white fabric with a flower print through the sewing machine. “What is that - a blouse?”

“A tunic,” Aramis corrects him gently, stopping the machine. “I am going to apply sequins by hand later, make the flowers stand out more.”

Athos smiles. “That sounds lovely. For now it’s time for tea though.”

Aramis sighs and nods, and carefully puts the tunic down. “Alright.”

“You sound as if I am forcing you into some unreasonable hardship,” Athos drawls, walking up to him to pull the wheelchair out from behind the desk. “You know quite as well as I do that Porthos will scold if I let you work too long.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable with blaming any and all unreasonableness on him,” Aramis quibs, leaning back in the chair to grin at Athos upside down. “All we’d have to do is keep quiet.”

“Oh, believe me, he’d know,” Athos mutters. He manages to get through the door without running over Howard, mostly because he jumps up into Aramis’ lap as soon as the gap in the door is wide enough.

“I’m half convinced he only waits for me this stubbornly because he enjoys to ride in the chair,” Aramis states, petting him lovingly. “Do we need to get you a roomba? Is that what this is?”

Howard purrs and makes no comment.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis is looking at him over the rim of his teacup. He’s sitting in the corner of the couch, broken leg on a cushion and a tray over his lap, and he doesn’t take his eyes off him. Athos doesn’t know why, but it makes him _nervous_. What if Aramis has noticed that something’s up? What if he _knows_? The mere idea gives Athos palpitations. Which is completely nonsensical of course, but apparently that’s how he rolls these days.

So he finishes his sandwich rather hastily and all but springs up from his armchair to return his plate to the kitchen, sets it down so heavily that it makes a noise on the counter top. “Do you want another?” he asks Aramis over his shoulder, trying to cover up his clumsiness. “Or rather some cookies?”

“Cookies!” Aramis orders happily and continues sipping his tea.

Athos relaxes. There’s really no reason for him to be this tense. Because Aramis would be vibrating off the couch if he knew, and there’s really no chance that he found out. Athos has been very sneaky, after all. He hasn’t told anyone yet, not even his parents. Mostly because his Mother would be the first to blab. Her relationship with Porthos is far too close for her to even contemplate keeping Athos’ plans secret. And he wants them kept secret.

Every time he thinks about the actual act of proposing to Aramis and Porthos, Athos goes warm all over. He’s been with Porthos all his life, and even though the romantical aspect is fairly new to their relationship, Athos doesn’t doubt that he will continue to love him for as long as he lives.

The two and a half years since he met Aramis are a ridiculously short stretch of road by comparison, Athos is aware. It doesn’t matter. Because he’s crazy about Aramis, soppily, ridiculously, helplessly in love. Some might argue that this might blind him towards Aramis’ actual character; but Athos has been aware of what others might deem Aramis’ weaknesses from the very start, and he loves him all the more for them - just like he loves Porthos not despite his occasional failings, but for the whole of his being.

He’s also quite aware that Porthos’ failings are miniscule and that his general everything belongs on a pedestal, possibly made of gold and graced by several gods.

Athos sighs and promptly makes Aramis look at him over the rim of his teacup again. “Is something the matter?”

“I was merely thinking about Porthos,” Athos states, carrying his cookie jar back to Aramis. “He has been neglecting us of late.”

Aramis pouts. “Yes. I’m still not over the way he just _stopped kissing you_ the other day. It was cruel.”

Athos grins and sits down beside him, puts his arm around Aramis’ shoulders. “It really was. I plan on taking him severely to task for that.”

Aramis snuggles up to him, leans his head against Athos’ shoulder. “I think you overwhelmed him.”

Athos blinks. “How so?”

“We-ell.” Aramis hesitates, biting his lip. “It’s all a question of frequency, isn’t it? Me, I’m naked around him all the time. I always want him to kiss me, and touch me, and … erm, make me happy. So he never has to worry about my availability, or whatever you want to call it.”

He blushes and takes a sip of tea and Athos cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of his expression. “Are you telling me that it was the sight of my naked body that brought about his hasty retreat? Because Porthos has been seeing me naked for almost thirty years, and I -”

“You know it’s different now,” Aramis interrupts him in a tiny voice. “I think sometimes he wants you so much that it frightens him a little.”

The statement knocks the wind out of Athos and he swallows drily, tries to force his tongue into cooperation. “I … had no idea.”

But he did, didn’t he? Porthos basically told him, was always so very careful when he touched him, frustrated Athos by being too considerate.

“What should I do?” he asks, not aware that he’s talking out loud, and certainly not expecting an answer.

Nevertheless Aramis gives him one. “I think it would help if you told him just how far he’s allowed to go with you? I mean - I know that it’s difficult for you to know that yourself, what with everything still being so new for you, but I get why he’d rather pull back and keep things under control than going too far and … and end up hurting you.”

Stunned silence takes up residency between them. Athos had gotten so used to Aramis being bruised by the memories of his experiences that he never even considered asking him for advice. A rather moronic miscalculation as he now has to admit. Aramis gives great advice precisely _because_ he’s experienced.

“Thank you,” he says softly, tilts his head so he can brush a kiss to Aramis’ cheek. “I will talk to him.”

Aramis hums and burrows into him, reaches out for a cookie and stuffs the whole thing into his mouth, achieves the most beautiful case of hamster cheeks. Athos smiles and kisses the top of his head, more than pleased with them both. Because what Athos mostly failed at in the past was to actually communicate with his partners - to clearly state what he needed and expected from them, to tell them if things went too far for his comfort … to have them listen and stop in the rare cases he managed to speak up.

But talking to Aramis is easy, and it always has been. Possibly because Aramis is a giant muffin who would never hurt anybody, possibly because he just _gets_ Athos. It’s quite relieving to be in a relationship with someone like that, Athos must say. He’s really glad that he’s decided to propose.

“Do you want to take a nap?” he asks, noticing that Aramis has started to doze, and Aramis sighs, rubs his cheek over his cardigan.

“I need my medicine first, I think.”

“Yes, it is time,” Athos agrees. He gets up, frees Aramis from his tray and covers him with a blanket before he goes to retrieve his medicine and a glass of water.

“Will you sit next to me again?” Aramis asks, voice shy and cheeks reddening ever so slightly. “I … I want to cuddle.”

“Then I will sit next to you,” Athos says with a smile, handing him the pill and the glass. “Just let me get my book.”

Aramis nods and smiles back, swallows his pill and drinks his water - gives the glass back to Athos. Their fingers brush over the smooth surface, and Athos loves how that sends a little spike of warmth up his arm, loves that touching Aramis always makes him feel so ridiculously connected.

He can’t even imagine being with someone else at this point. It just wouldn’t make any sense.


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos comes home early that evening. It’s one of the many perks of Elodie moving into the orphanage - Porthos doesn’t have to visit her and the baby on his way home from work anymore.

Athos approves. He wasn’t precisely jealous of the time Porthos spent with them, but it’s always nice to have him home more. Maybe he should look into getting more full-time staff for the orphanage. A teacher or two for the older children certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“Good evening, love,” Porthos greets him, leaning over the armchair to hug him from behind and brush a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t tell me Aramis is still working?”

“He is,” Athos has to admit, reaching up to hold Porthos in place. “But he took a very long nap earlier, so he has not reached the limit you set for him yet.”

Porthos huffs and gives him a squeeze, obediently stays in place and pushes his cheek firmly against Athos’. “Did you two have a nice day?”

“We are getting used to handling the wheelchair,” Athos says, closing his eyes. “But I have a feeling he will want to switch to the crutches soon. You know how he is.”

“Indeed I do,” Porthos sighs, giving Athos another kiss. “Let me up, will you. I wanna go and tell him I’m home.”

So Athos reluctantly lets go of him, pulls up his shoulders when Porthos takes his warmth away. He manages to read a few more lines in his book before getting restless, and eventually gets up to step over to the kitchen area and make himself a cup of cocoa.

Porthos joins him sooner than anticipated. “He’s busy,” he explains with a little pout when he catches Athos’ surprised look. “All but chased me out of the room. No wonder Constance calls him her disciplined little worker bee.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he does not allow me to sit with him when he works either, “ Athos drawls. “Apparently I am too distracting.”

Porthos chuckles. “I can almost hear him say it. You want me to start on the dinner preparations?”

“No,” Athos replies. “We are ordering out tonight. I want to talk to you about something. Do you want cocoa as well?”

“Definitely,” Porthos says, his expression turning apprehensive. “Did somethin’ happen?”

“No,” Athos soothes him. “Well, yes. Aramis and I talked earlier. He mentioned our kiss in the bathroom the other day, and he said - well, he said that the reason why you stopped kissing me was -” Athos bites his lip and focusses rather hard on the heating milk in the pot in front of him. “That you stopped because you are afraid of hurting me.”

Porthos goes rather still beside him, and Athos glances up at his face before hastily reverting his attention to his milk. “Was that it?”

“A bit,” Porthos admits, sounding raw but determined to be honest, no matter what. It’s one of the reasons Athos loves him as ardently as he does. “I think I sort of panicked?” Porthos goes on, sounding uncertain. “I mean I did stop because Aramis was watchin’ us, and I was worried about him really bein’ comfortable on that stool, and -”

The milk starts to boil, and Athos pulls the pot off the plate, looks up at Porthos’ face again. “Have I been too incalculable? Is that it?” Because Athos would get that. Demanding consideration from your partner is one thing. Expecting them to read your mind and only do what you want them to in that precise moment is something else entirely.

“Naw, you’ve been a sweetheart,” Porthos rumbles, smiling ever so faintly. “All cuddly and soft.” He frowns. “I don’t know if that’s the problem, really.”

Athos frowns as well, adding cocoa powder to the milk in the pot, stirring gently with a whisk. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you bein’ all welcomin’ of my touches makes me hope for more, and that makes me feel like a rotten bastard who only ever thinks about one thing,” Porthos growls. He sounds miserable.

Athos abandons his cocoa to fully turn around and look at him. “That is nonsense, and you know it.”

Porthos looks back at him, eyebrows sad arches of guilt. “If you knew some of the thoughts I’ve had about you lately -”

“Do you have any idea how often I have committed murder in my mind?” Athos interrupts him, gives way when Porthos pushes forward to finish the cocoa preparations and steadies himself with a hand to the counter to his left. “You are allowed to fantasize about me - you do not need my permission. Your mind is your own to do with as you please. You should know that.”

“I do know it,” Porthos sighs. “It’s what I do with those thoughts when you come on to me - that’s the problem.”

Athos wants to hug him. So he does. “Porthos,” he murmurs. “I love you. You are the gentlest soul I know. I trust you - explicitly. Which is one of the reasons why I even feel comfortable offering myself to you the way I did in the tub. I do not fear your instincts anymore than I fear my own.”

Porthos lets go of the whisk so quickly that it bangs against the side of the pot, throws his arms around Athos and holds him tight. “I love you, too. It’s just - when you kiss me like that -”

“You want more,” Athos murmurs, shivering ever so slightly. The idea is unusually appealing. Possibly because it’s Porthos. No. Precisely because it’s Porthos.

“Yeah,” Porthos murmurs into his ear. “I don’t wanna be the one who ruins things by bein’ too greedy.”

“So you’d rather ruin them by being too shy?” Athos drawls, bringing sufficient distance between them to look up into Porthos’ face. “Because either way, nothing will happen.”

Porthos scowls. Athos smiles. “I love that you want to protect me, truly, I do.” He lifts his hand to Porthos’ face, cups his cheek. “But you are not protecting me by pulling back when I try to be close to you - unless of course, you really do not want to be close to me in that moment.”

“I always wanna be close to you,” Porthos murmurs, allowing his lids to droop. “That’s kind of the problem.”

“Oh, I would not call it a problem,” Athos teases. “But I am sorry for making you afraid of your own urges,” he adds, a tad more soberly. “I can only imagine how difficult this is for you.”

“And I’m sorry for pullin’ away the other day,” Porthos says, pushing his face into Athos’ hair. “I didn’t wanna frustrate you.”

Athos sighs with pleasure. “So. What do we do?”

“I dunno,” Porthos murmurs, plastering himself to Athos from top to bottom. “I guess it’d make you feel embarrassed to go ahead and tell me just how far you wanna go when we’re naked together, eh?”

Athos swallows drily. “Yes. Very. But for you, I could do it.” Because Porthos can’t do this alone. It would be impossible for him to figure it out by himself, so Athos will have to do his part. It would be unfair of him to refuse. He clears his throat. “You know what would also help?”

Porthos makes a noncommittal sound and continues to hug him really tight. Athos turns his face into his neck. “You could allow me to lead for once - let me test my limits by keeping still and trusting me to make you feel good.”

This time Porthos is the one to shiver. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Athos can’t hold back a smirk. “Then the both of us will have to give our best to make it work.”

That’s what a good marriage is all about, after all.


End file.
